


The Rose Garden

by Susanoo_no_Mikoto



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: (part of) casefic, Austria, Cold War, Gen, In Media Res, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susanoo_no_Mikoto/pseuds/Susanoo_no_Mikoto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castle ruins, secrets, and dastardly plots on the banks of the Donau. Business as usual for Iron Klaus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rose Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



"What do you mean, you did not find the package?" Klaus said from behind the map he was ostensibly studying.

"I'm sorry," agent G, dressed as a German tourist on vacation with her husband, A, whispered back. 

The agents were seated at one of the long outdoors tables put up in the courtyard, with A, B and C – the latter two ostensibly fellow accountants on vacation with Klaus – providing covering chatter. 

"I told you to investigate the garden in particular while I distracted Baikal Seal during the tour," Klaus said and speared the last piece of his bratwurst. "They're closing in two hours and the opposition are certain to have surveillance of the road back up here."

"You don't understand, Major," G said, then flushed when Klaus glared at him for the slip-up. In an even lower voice, he continued: "There are no gardens here. Didn't they talk about the balcony in the tour, the Rosengärtlein?" 

"Shush! No naming things. And that has to be a fake trail. It's impossible to hide anything there."

"I know," G replied. "Bare stone, a fence and then that drop… I can't imagine people being caught up there. No way down unless you have wings or can climb like a mountain goat, brr. But it leaves us with nothing, doesn't it?" 

Klaus fell silent and looked over to the tower hiding the so-called Rose Garden. The tour guide had told them in detail, balcony used by one of the old lords to keep prisoners until they starved or committed suicide. It was just a piece of rock that jutted out. Impossible to hide anything in the Rose Garden. On the outside, however… 

"Fine," Klaus admitted with a grumble. "Disperse and keep looking until they close, but be prepared to come back tonight." He raised his voice, exaggerating his accent as he fell into his character. "All done sightseeing, lads? We'll want to get down back to the river if we want to have a look at the town before they close up!"

* * *

The ruin of keep Aggstein was an imposing silhouette against the moonlit sky. The imposing fort had looked out over the river-valley of the Donau since the twelfth century and had, as far as Klaus knew, never been taken in battle. Until it was abandoned, and then invaded by hordes of tourists, that was… 

Now the tourists were gone, bags full of souvenirs and heads stuffed with tales of gruesome robber barons from the middle ages. None of them knew of the more recent gruesomeness that had taken room somewhere around Aggstein a few nights ago. An Interpol officer had floated up from the river just before it crossed from Austria into Hungary, and his last movements had been traced to the keep.

Then, two days later, a roll of undeveloped film landed in the postbox of the NATO headquarters in Bonn. They turned out to contain, after 18 photos of the dead agent smiling against backgrounds of the Austrian castles and mountains along the Donau, four crisp photos of the Soviet agent and suspected assassin Baikal Seal. The narrow-faced Siberian had a dense beard that helped hide most of his expressions and from the way he had moved even among hapless tourists, Klaus had no doubt his reputation was well-earned. 

With him had been two unexpected persons, who were easily identified by NATO. The first was Patricia Forrester, American art expert with a reputation stained by several close calls with forgeries and stolen art, who remained suspiciously hard to pin down for anything in particular. Her position as a large stakeholder in several profitable Californian wine estates as well as an inherited fortune probably had a lot to do with that. She could be seen laughing at something Baikal Seal had said in one photo, adjusting his hat in the other. And with them stood one also smiling Pieter Coetzer, South African-born British citizen… and senior officer in the Interpol.

It had been an easy decision for NATO to investigate this matter in-house. By all accounts, the dead Interpol agent had been a honest, middle-grade worker who mostly worked from the office. Klaus had traced his steps once the mission was handed to him, and had agreed with his superiors that the man seemed to genuinely be on vacation when he'd stumbled on a case of suspected corruption in his own organisation.

They moved covertly into Austria, letting Interpol continue the purely forensic investigation in the death, while Klaus tried to follow the chain of events alluded to in the photos. Much to his surprise, they had barely arrived in the picturesque valley when agent B ran into Baikal Seal. Literally; he stumbled and managed to spill mustard and sauerkraut all over the Soviet agent.

A lot of ranting, yelling and suspicious observation later, Klaus to conclude that Baikal Seal was looking for something – and that it was becoming increasingly likely that their deceased Interpol agent had managed to hide whatever it was before his death.

So, at a leisurely pace that had his nerves almost as frayed as it seemed to annoy his opponent, Klaus and the Alphabet team looked at castles and tourist traps, took hundreds of photos, did a few not too transparent fake drops with meaningless letters and empty microfiche sheets while they slowly worked their way to Aggstein. The two last pictures on the film had been of the keep, taken from below, and of a composite postcard with a finger presumably belonging to the dead agent, pointing at a square with flowering roses. A minute with a guide book, and they had the story of the Rosengärtlein.

While Klaus had dismissed it when he'd looked it over on the tour – the keep today of course included a safety railing to keep tourists from falling down the mountain side – G's comment had reminded him of a detail in their victim's file.

In his younger days, the Interpol agent had been an enthusiastic free climber. He'd stopped, presumably when age, marriage and three children had given him other interests than hanging off cliff faces without a safety rope. But if you had Baikal Seal after you? If you'd just uncovered a conspiracy in your own organisation, not knowing how deep it went or if you'd live long enough to get help? 

There was a postbox by the souvenir store in the Aggstein courtyard; he could have posted the film there. And, perhaps near closing when the crowds were thinning out, he could've crossed the railing and hidden something beneath the balcony.

It was worth investigating. Agent A and B where Klaus' lookouts, while agent G and Z where the decoys in town. Z in a wig and trench-coat with G hanging off his arm would hopefully keep the Russian's busy. 

Meanwhile, Klaus intended to take a nice, quiet little look on the Rosengärtlein in the dark, and maybe they'd all be back in Germany by this time tomorrow.

"Why, Major! Fancy meeting you here. Out on a moonlit stroll, are we?"

Or he could run into the plague of his life.

"Why," Klaus asked, recognizing the lilting tones without having to even glance in the direction of the speaker, " _why_ do you have to follow me everywhere I go?"

"Pish-tosh," replied Eroica, infamous art thief and bane of Klaus life, "this time I'm almost certain you are the one who followed me."

He stepped out from his covering amongst the foliage, wearing… Klaus covered his eyes and groaned. Eroica was dressed in a dark-colored sleeveless shirt with metallic decorations that gleamed in the moonlight, light tights and, on top of his curls, a jauntily perched Tyroler. He had a length of robe slung around his shoulder and wore modern protective gloves and hiking shoes, the brand marks standing out in fluorescent color… but otherwise, he looked as if he had stolen the clothes from the gift shop window in the keep.

"Why – what are you wearing? No, no don't answer, I have no interest in knowing." Klaus turned away and continued his trek uphill.

"Come now, darling," Eroica replied, following him in almost perfect silence despite his ridiculous getup. "The keep is 12th century, but they really did not have much rock-climbing fashion back then, so I fast forwarded a bit, to an age of more sartorial romance. The hat clashes a bit, I admit, but we are in Austria."

"You are wearing tights! If it weren't so dark, my eyes would be bleeding by now."

"You wound me, darling. Though if if it weren't so dark, you'd refuse to climb ahead of me in those deliciously well-fitting trousers, so I shan't complain too much."

"Shut. Up."

"So tell me," Eroica continued, unaffected by Klaus dark tone, "may I enquire why you are interested in a purely civilian matter? Has Interpol called in reinforcements? I guess you might have killed poor officer Girón in a fit of passion, trying to protect me, but I do hope you wouldn't go to such measures."

"Fit of…" Klaus stopped, almost stumbling as his mind tried to eradicate all images arising from that turn of phrase. Then something else registered; Girón, that was the dead Interpol officer. "How did you know that name? Why are you here?"

Eroica twirled a curl of hair around his finger. "Why are you here, Major? You've not switched employers, have you?"

"No. But you will reply first and then I decide how much to tell you." The Aggstein keep loomed over them, and Klaus frowned up at it. "You can't be after art, not from that heap of rocks."

"Of course not. Nothing of real value left after all these years." Eroica tilted his head, still playing with his hair, and then nodded slowly as if confirming something. "You recognized the name of that agent; am I to assume that he was dabbling in something outside of Interpol's normal sphere, then?"

"He was supposed to be here on vacation, but it seems he ran into something unpleasant."

"Hmm… like that busload of suspiciously well-trained Russian art students who are cluttering the entire countryside? Loaded with pens and sketch books, but spending very little time drawing."

"I haven't run into them myself. However, there's another Russian here. Definitely one of Mischa's sort. Tall, dark beard, moves like a killer." 

"Is a killer," Eroica concluded, "and I'd do best to keep my thieving nose clear of him. Message received, Major. So let me give you one in return: I'm here for business pertaining to the Rogues Gallery, and I very much doubt your former Interpol officer was only on vacation. If he was, he was spectacularly unlucky."

"What do you mean?"

"There's some people who… while not exactly in our business, have a lot of connections. Traders, fixers, experts at appraisals. Usually, there's a sense of mutual, hmm, let's call it professional courtesy? We of the underworld don't turn up at the doorstep of a renowned goldsmith with the police at our heels; they miraculously haven't read the newspaper lately and so entirely fail to recognizing unique pieces of jewelry that went missing in a recent heist. Those of my trade who have been properly admitted to my little… circle of friends, we have a code of honor, you know. Oh, scoff at me as much as you wish, Major, but we don't blackmail an old curator for a misdeed he committed when he was a young art student with the skills to help disguise a forgery. In return, those on the fringe keep our secrets. At least, they're supposed to."

"Patricia Forrester." The pieces quickly fell into place when Klaus looked at them this way, and Eroica's slow smile was the last confirmation. "She's less on the fringe of your sort than she'd like, no longer entirely accepted in the art world."

"Sloppiness and greed will do that to you. And bad business sense will put your wine-yards heavily in the red, especially once you start taking out loans in the wrong places." 

"Ah." That was a detail his team had not thought to look for. "But she's not a thief; lacks the drive or skill, has too many legit business deals for it to work. So she's… selling out?"

Eroica nodded. "Volvolante is the one who asked for my assistant, though I believe others did the connection first. But there has been some high-profile arrests lately and, what's even more worrying, two suicides. Both unfortunates were well-respected gents with much experience, with an eye for modern alarm systems that perhaps surpasses even mine."

"Suicides, eh?"

"By cyanide. Strangely enough, there were Russian tourists spotted in the area in both cases. Well-trained Russian art students, in fact." 

"Mhmm. There is this one agent on the other side, Baikal Seal, who is said to have a deft hand with poisons, as well as more physical methods." 

"Volvolante thinks Mrs. Forrester is selling information to both the police and the Soviets, depending on the type of target. But Interpol are also growing suspicious about their string of unexplained good luck."

"Really? Most coppers I know will happily take any handouts like that. What's missing?"

"Possibly, there's been an arrest or two made of persons none of my associates can recall ever working with, or for, or against. There's always solo flyers in our business… but a quick look at the Who's-Who of the Californian wine traders give you their names in entirely different contexts."

"Hmm. Clever and ruthless. If she weren't already in business with the Russkis, I might just tell NATO to make her an offer."

"You go ahead and do whatever you want with her, Major," Eroica said, his voice unusually grave. "All I want are the recipes of my latest sales to Mrs. Forrester back. As well as the other sensitive information we haven't been able to find in her home or safe deposit box."

"I need to see what's among those papers first," Klaus said. "If she's trying to sell blackmail material on a bunch of criminals, well; it's in the West's interest that your kind don't defect en masse, so go ahead and burn it. But if there's sensitive information there, I need to know and trace it to the source."

"Would anything about a certain Eroica, one-time NATO contractor, fall in the category of sensitive?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Klaus said. "You're nothing but a thief and NATO cares nothing for you. Besides, what would they blackmail you with? Depravity and sticky fingers? Everybody knows that already."

"Perhaps they'd attempt to blackmail my long-time associate, upstanding military Major von dem Eberbach?"

Klaus smiled like a wolf. "Oh, they'd be welcome to try. Now, stop blathering and start climbing – and don't expect me to catch you, if you scrape your knees and fall, wearing those ridiculous things."

Fluttering his eyelashes at him, Eroica replied: "Oh, I'd never dream of expecting such, Major. If I want you to bring me to the castle, I know I have to pull my own weight."


End file.
